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Roman rolled down his window and waited for her to start toward the door of the spa to call out. “Valeriya.”
She turned, caution on her face in the moment before she realized it was him.
“I can’t talk to you.”
She turned away and he hurried to speak before she disappeared behind the red door. “It will be to your benefit.”
She slowed, then turned to face him, her blue eyes wary and accented by the high ponytail that pulled her hair back from her face. “I’m not sure you’re in a position to offer anything of benefit.”
He smiled. “You might be surprised.”
She rolled her eyes and walked back to the car. “I’ll give you five minutes, and only because I'm intrigued.”
He opened the door and slid across the backseat.
She lowered herself next to him and he caught a whiff of her perfume, something elegant and complicated. She was bundled in an expensive wool coat, her feet clad in Ferragamo boots.
She shut the door, enveloping them in the muffled quiet of the Jag’s interior. She turned to look at him, her gaze appraising. “I’m surprised you’re still breathing.”
“You’re only surprised because you don’t know me,” he said.
She flashed him a sly smile. “I’ve always found arrogance oddly appealing.”
“How have you been, Valeriya? How are the wedding plans coming along?”
She glared at him, then reached for the door. “Arrogance may be appealing, but I’m not a masochist.”
He put a hand on her arm. “I’m sorry. You’ve always been so good-humored.”
She dropped her hand from the door and turned to look at him. “No one could be good-humored enough to laugh at the predicament of being forced to marry your brother.”
He nodded, feeling a surge of sympathy for her. He’d put two and two together when he’d started to work the puzzle of his father’s cash flow. A turf war was expensive under the best of circumstances, and for Igor, these were not the best of circumstances.
That he’d been forced into bestowing large bonuses even on the associates was one of many signs that he was desperate — and that he’d found a source of capital.
Before Roman had launched the war against his father, that source was supposed to be Roman’s marriage to Vladimir Orlov’s daughter. Lucky for Igor, he had a spare groom on hand.
“I’m sorry,” Roman said. “My brother is…”
“… an overgrown child with the impulse control of a poorly trained puppy and a drug habit like Scarface?”
He laughed in spite of the seriousness of the situation. “It sounds like you’ve gotten to know him over the past few weeks.”
She sniffed imperiously. “Unfortunately.”
“I take it you had little say in the matter?” Roman asked.
“When do we ever havesay?” For the first time, she sounded tired. “I’m nothing but chattel to my father. An asset to be leveraged for still greater assets. It’s never been a secret."
He was hit with a burst of sympathy. Up until a month ago, he’d been practiced at sacrificing his life on the altar of duty, and he was a man. He couldn’t begin to imagine the challenges endured by women in their world.
“May I ask you an indelicate question?”
“Please,” she said drily. “It will probably be the most exciting thing to happen to me since I was betrothed to your brother.”
“Are you the sole beneficiary of your father’s wealth?” Roman asked. “In the event of his death, I mean.”
Her pale skin turned even paler. “You have no idea what could happen to me for even engaging in this conversation.”
